


Rivals

by deancastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Tennis, Tennis!AU, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deancastiel/pseuds/deancastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a tennis prodigy and is following in his father's footsteps by rising to the top of the tennis world. Castiel Novak has been playing since he was old enough to walk and won't let anything or anyone stand in his way. Even if that someone is extremely interesting and very attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead and off the tip of his nose. The crowd was silent and the cicadas even seemed to dim their noisy chatter. The sun was hot on his face and he could feel the heat sapping him of his energy slowly.

There was movement on the other side of the court and his eyes snapped to the neon yellow ball that was being bounced just inside the thick white base line. His opponent was getting ready to serve. Intense green eyes focused on him and he lowered his stance and narrowed his eyes. He twirled his racquet in his hand, a challenge. Serve the ball.

His opponent’s lips twitched upwards into a ghost of a smirk and Cas bristled slightly, flexing his jaw and promising himself to rush the net and slam this point before Dean Winchester had a chance to blink.

He watched as Dean bounced the ball again and again and one more time before his fingers flexed around the ball. His long body rocketed upward until he was pointing at the sky, the ball disappearing in the searing light of the sun. He moved in slow motion, his other hand circling up to connect the racquet with the ball. And it was show time.

There was a loud thwack as the ball connected with the racquet and Castiel was instantly in motion. His sneakers slid with his fast take off as he predicted exactly where the ball would land and how the extra spin would kick it to his left. He lunged and planted his feet firmly. He pulled his racquet back and pivoted, launching the ball down the line.

“Out!” The official called loudly. Cas swore under his breath and walked with his back to his opponent. He played with the strings of his racquet as he tried to rid himself of the tension and irritation rolling down his spine. He had been too eager and now they were tied because of it.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, mapping out what he would do for the next point. Cut the serve off, send it down the line, be ready for the cross court shot and poach it down the line again. Winchester didn’t have a chance.

He slowly turned, keeping his eyes a safe distance from his opponent as he dropped into a squat, feeling his leg muscles tense in anticipation.

“Deuce.” The official called and Cas took another deep breath. He needed two more points to win this match. That was it.

Finally he looked up, his eyes squinting in the setting sunlight. He set his eyes on the ball as it rested in his opponent’s hand. He refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at his face. All his concentration focused on the ball. His entire body tensed as Dean threw the ball up into the air. Cas rocked onto his toes and as soon as the ball connected with the racquet he pushed off, his feets skidding slightly on the hard court ashe ran to attack the ball.

His back twisted and he used every ounce of his strength to launch the ball down the sideline.

“Add out.” The crowd broke into thunderous applause as Cas let a small smile of victory take his lips. Dean stood on the baseline, legs stretched wide to try and hit the ball that he had missed. His nostrils were flared and his glare was scathing as he watched Cas move back to the baseline.

Just one more point.

Cas set himself again as did Dean who turned the ball over and over in his hand, his eyes darting around the court as he made his calculations. His eyes stilled on the corner of the service box closest to the center of the court. cas tensed even further, he was going to try and ace him. He rolled to the balls of his feet, racquet held in a death grip as he prepared himself for the final point.

Dean loaded and sprung and the serve sailed over the net at a blinding speed. Cas moved to hit it but something was off. It wasn’t in line with the center of the court. He stopped his movement and let the ball skid past him.

“Out!” The official cried into the mic.

“Fuck!” Dean yelled, swinging his racquet violently.

“Mr. Winchester! One more outburst like that and you will be fined.”

Dean rolled his eyes and continued to grumble to himself. He took his stance at the baseline, his jaw tight and his eyes fierce.

Cas knew what was coming next. The famous Winchester spin serve. He could tell by the way that Dean set his feet and his racquet that he was going to curve the ball to the right and spin it out of bounds. Cas flexed his fingers on the grip of his racquet and prepared himself. Dean didn’t look at the court, he had everything about it memorized, Cas was sure.

The Winchester spin serve was what had brought Dean’s father, John, to the tennis world stage. People watched in amazement as he dethroned tennis veterans and upset the order of the top ranking players in the world. His success had been short lived due to a tragic accident before a match. John hadn’t made it through and everyone thought that the Winchester legacy had ended.

But then Dean emerged as one of the top players in the country at the age of 16. An age that was unheard of. He decided to drop out of high school and play professionally with the permission of his guardian and coach Bobby Singer. Bobby Singer had a rep for being a surly man who mostly kept to himself but trained tennis royalty. And so, just like that, Dean became an overnight star. He took tournaments all over the world and by the time he was 20 he was considered one of the sport’s greatest players.

And here he was, standing across from Castiel and preparing for the serve to end all serves. Cas forced himself to stay focused and watch Dean’s every movement.

Dean wound up for the serve, his concentration total. His hand circled out and swung. The serve hit the court and kicked hard to the right just as Castiel had expected. He’d watched the tapes over and over to perfect his return shot.

Cas sprung out and reached out his racquet to slice underneath the ball. He sent the ball short so that it barely dropped over the net. Cas could see as Dean’s muscles tensed and flexed and he ran like lightning. He hit the ball down the opposite side of the court and Cas sprinted to it. This was the exact position he wanted to be in. Dean’s weakness was up at the net because his main strength was his power, not his finesse. Cas wound up and smashed the ball as hard as he could and watched with satisfaction as Dean extended as far as he could but only the tip of his racquet brushed the ball.

Cheers erupted from the crowd and Cas couldn’t help but break into a smile.

“Game, set, match. Novak.”

Cas walked up to the net and shifted his racquet to his left hand so he could shake with Dean.

“Good game, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything and his expression was dark. He shook Castiel’s hand with more force than necessary. Castiel narrowed his eyes before releasing Dean’s hand and going to shake the official’s hand.

“Congratulations, Mr. Novak. I look forward to seeing you in the finals tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.” Castiel said pleasantly. He released the officiant’s hand and proceeded to his bench, gathering up his bag and grabbing his water. The cheers crescendoed as he threw his bag over his shoulder and turned to walk to the locker room. He smiled and waved at all the fans packed into Centre Court, who yelled louder in response.

Castiel pushed Dean’s face to the back of his mind and enjoyed the noise. They were cheering for him. It was an amazing feeling. After hours of one of the most difficult matches of his life he had come out on top. His shirt and shorts stuck to his body with sweat and he could feel his muscles beginning to cramp up but he felt like he was floating. This is what he played for. This feeling.

He quickly signed some hats and other clothing before heading back into the locker room. He made a B-line to the showers. He refused to go to a press conference in this state. He peeled off his clothing and stepped under the stream of water and let the heat roll down his body, relaxing his strained muscles. He sighed heavily and stood under the stream for a while, unmoving. But he knew that he had to be done soon so he quickly washed off the day’s worth of grime and sweat before heading over to his bag and drying off quickly. He pulled his clothing on and toweled off his hair.

There was a slam and Castiel jumped. He quietly gathered his things and began to leave the locker room. He knew that only one other person would be in the locker room right now. The guy he had played and beaten. Dean Winchester.

Dean turned the corner and stopped dead, his eyes deadly. Castiel averted his eyes and shrugged his bag onto his shoulder. He started to walk towards the door and past Dean but he paused. He shouldn’t be scared of this guy who was younger and less experienced than him. But he refused to be cruel. He decided to treat him like he would any other opponent.

“That was a great match today.”

“Can it, Novak.”

“I mean it, you played amazing.”

“Not amazing enough apparently.”

Castiel sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. Dean Winchester was known for being one of the most hot headed tennis players in the game. But Castiel had no idea how much of a stubborn idiot he actually was.

“The angle of your second serve—“

Castiel was cut off as he was slammed into the lockers. Dean had him by the shirt and was holding him against the cold metal. He grunted and looked up into furious green.

“I said can it, Novak. I don’t want your sympathy.”

Castiel bristled and grabbed Dean’s hand, pulling it off of his shirt and shoving it away.

“It’s not sympathy, it’s admiration, Dean.” He growled, glaring at the man across from him.

“It’s worth shit if you beat me.”

“That’s not true.”

Dean crowded him against the locker, closer than he should be. He still smelled faintly of sweat and sunshine and some deep smell Castiel couldn’t quite place. It was overwhelming to say the least and he tried to slide away from Dean. But Dean grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt this time and pushed him back with a thud.

“I don’t want your compliments. I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want anything from you.”

Castiel glared evenly at Dean. His hands reached up to wrap around Dean’s preparing to shove him off and storm out of the locker room. But Dean’s hands tightened and he moved in closer until all Castiel could see, hear, or smell was Dean.

He parted his lips to protest but Dean was already leaning forward and smashing their lips together. Cas let out a surprised gasp as Dean pinned him against the lockers with his body. Cas’ hands fumbled to find Dean’s face before pushing against him as hard as he could, breaking the kiss.

“What are you doing?!”

Dean didn’t respond he just looked at Cas like he wanted to devour him. His green eyes were dark and his face was flushed. Cas felt something twist in his gut and before he could think he was pulling Dean back towards him, their faces colliding in a mess of lips and teeth and tongue.

Cas’ hands reached down to grip the hem of Dean’s shirt before parting their lips momentarily to pull the fabric over Dean’s head. Dean did the same to Cas and soon their bare chests were pressed together. Cas groaned at the feeling of Dean’s skin on his own. It was hot and smooth and irresistible as it slid against him.

He was already hard in his shorts and it was obvious that Dean was too with the way he was rutting against him. Their hips connected solidly and left them both gasping and floundering for a moment before reconnecting.

Cas’ hands gripped at Dean’s tanned shoulders. He had never known how many freckles he had and his fingers dug into the skin, starting to bruise it. Dean’s hands were busy on his hips, pulling them sharply forward so that he could slot between his legs and start to thrust in earnest.

Cas gasped and his head fell back on the lockers. Dean was instantly latched onto his throat, biting harshly then sucking hard. Cas moaned and his hips bucked up into Dean’s. He could feel the bruise forming on his neck but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that it would be visible to millions of people during the finals tomorrow. He didn’t care that he would have to explain it to his coach. He didn’t care that his on-again-off-again boyfriend might see it from where he would be sitting in the VIP box. He didn’t care.

All he cared about was the way that Dean was canting his hips as desperately as Cas was. That their breath was mixing in the cool air of the Arthur Ashe locker room. That he could feel heat feathering down his spine to settle heavy in his gut and before he knew it his body was tensed and he was shouting. Dean grunted against his neck, his fingers clamping down hard on Castiel’s hips as his body convulsed slightly.

Both men slouched and sagged in the after glow. Castiel closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling, trying to regulate his breathing. Dean slowly pushed off of the locker and leaned down to gather his shirt.

“What the hell was that?” Castiel asked, still slightly breathless.

“A stress relief routine. I always do it after a match.”

Castiel bristled at the implication that this was nothing special. Even though he knew that already and he shouldn’t care. He watched as Dean turned his back and walked out of the locker room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Castiel wanted to do was get up and prepare for the final match he had that day. But Dean Winchester was making that nearly impossible...

Cas groaned as he rolled over onto his side. The soft green glow of the numbers from his alarm clock lit his face. His eyes were squinted with sleep and he prayed that it was late enough to be acceptable to get up. His eyes focused slowly on the analog in front of him, 5:30am. Well, there was no way in hell he was going back to sleep so he threw the covers off and rolled himself up slowly until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Instead of standing, stretching, and going to make some food he sat, hands braced on the edge of the bed and eyes turned down to the floor, thinking. The only reason he was up this early was because he was having nerves about his match today. _The_ match. The finals. At least that was what he was telling himself.

It most definitely was not because of a dream he had about a certain someone that he had done a certain something with in the locker room two days before. Because that would be crazy and a waste of his time. He was supposed to be getting into the proper headspace to play a match, not fretting about why he’d had a quickie in the locker room with his rival…

_He’d had a quickie in the locker room with his rival._

And just like that his headspace went to shit. He slammed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, forcing himself to think of something, anything, else. Anything besides the rough slide of their shorts and the ragged sound of Dean’s breathing. Cas’s breath hitched and he scrubbed his hands through his hair in irritation.

He just needed a cold shower. Then he could get started on his day.

After a particularly unpleasant shower the morning found Cas sitting at the small kitchen table in his hotel room. He had his specific breakfast laid out before him exactly as Michael had instructed. If there was anything that his coach was a stickler about it was Castiel’s diet.

He tried his best to let the “superfood” slide over his tongue and into his throat without tasting it. He decided to distract himself by turning on the TV. It was already switched to ESPN and it only took a moment for Cas to realize what they were talking about.

“Young, up and coming star, Dean Winchester, fought hard against England’s own Castiel Novak in the semi-finals of Wimbledon on Friday. But in the end Novak’s speed and cunning overtook the young Winchester’s strength and instinct.”

A picture of the ‘young, up and coming star’ flashed across the screen and something hot shot through Castiel. He shut the TV off quickly and took a deep breath. He stood slowly, wandering to the kitchenette to dump his dishes before he went back to the bedroom to slip into some shorts. He needed to get out of this stuffy room. Out to a place where he could think.

He slipped on his shoes and stepped out the door. He made his way downstairs and out the back door. His stretch was short but thorough as his mind raced anxiously. He needed to start moving soon or he would be in trouble with his own mind. He quickly began to jog. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was headed but he had a vague idea of his surroundings. He’d been to Wimbledon quite a few times before. When he was little his brothers would bring him because he begged to go. He loved to watch the pros play. They moved at blinding speeds and the ball was almost invisible. Castiel remembered the feeling of watching them, how he could practically feel the wind from their movements. The sharp ping of the ball as it bounced off the strings of the racquet.

The memories helped clear his head as he ran. It was still dark out and he could feel the fog on his skin. The cool droplets clung to his face and felt nice against his warming skin. He didn’t start to relax until his muscles began to burn and his breaths came more rapidly. He tried to focus on nothing but the pull of muscle, sinew, and bone. All other thoughts began to filter out of his mind until he felt a calm settle over him. He was in the place he had been searching for all morning.

He kept going until the sun began to color the clouds a light orange before he decided to turn back. He held firmly onto his calm, knowing he was going to need it to get through this match today. He was up against a veteran today, Crowley. He was one of the oldest players on the world circuit but had one of the best strategies that Castiel had ever seen. He would make sure his opponent would start winning and let them gain confidence. He spent that time finding their weaknesses and testing their strengths. And after their fitness level decreased and fatigue set in he would attack.

He would use all of their weaknesses against them and shut them down, leaving them exhausted and defeated as he claimed his victory. And he wasn’t modest about it either. Crowley was a showman and many people resented him for it. But no one could deny the wins he had under his belt. He was the top scoring player of all time. Taking home the most wins of any tennis champion in history; however, he didn’t have the trophies to back it up. Some had been taken away because of poor sportsmanship and others because drugs had been found in his system. But he still claimed all those wins as his own.

His mental game was brutal as well. He had mastered the art of getting under people’s skin and breaking their concentration. Castiel had seen many of his opponents break under the pressure. And it always ended with his opponents being fined or disqualified. Which was why, today of all days, Castiel needed to be completely on top of his game in every way.

The sun began to peak over the horizon, throwing patterns into the mist that hung low and heavy over everything. Castiel arrived back at the hotel and walked through the front. It was easier and he would rather take the elevator to let himself cool off a bit before he stretched and took another shower.

His body felt wonderful as it buzzed with excitement and exertion. He was really starting to think that today was going to turn out exactly as he expected it to. He walked through the lobby, catching a few stares as he did so. People who were here to watch the championship match were staying in the hotel as well. Their eyes watched him closely as he walked over to the elevator.

He shrugged off their looks as the doors opened. He wouldn’t let them screw up his newly found concentration.

“Hold the elevator!”

Cas froze with his hand over the button for the highest floor. He knew that voice and it crashed through his calm like a freight train. He panicked for a moment, contemplating what he should do. If he saw Dean right now then it would ruin his hard work this morning. As it was his thoughts were already headed down a dangerous path.

“Hey thanks! I was—“

Dean cut off when he saw Castiel. His mouth closed slowly and he thought for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but Cas cut him off.

“I’m going to take the stairs.”

He slid quickly out of the elevator and made a B-line for the staircase. A hand on his arm made him tense and he twisted out of the grasp.

“Wait a second!”

Cas stiffened but kept moving. He wrenched open the door to the stairwell and began to ascend at a quick pace. A second part to his morning workout is how he would see this. His room was on the top floor so he would probably be tired and that wouldn’t be good for the match later but De…talking to _him_ would be even more detrimental.

The door behind him creaked open again and a second set of feet began to clang up the metal stairs. It was too loud in the enclosed space and Castiel moved faster, his arms pumping as his legs pushed him higher.

“Jesus…fuck! Wait!”

Cas ignored him and climbed higher but the footsteps were incessant and sounded like they were getting closer. He reached the final landing and tried to regulate his breathing as he opened the door and walked as quickly as he could to his room. He pulled the key from his pocket and jammed it into the lock. He twisted but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and tried the other direction. Finally the door clicked and he was quick to open it but an arm stopped him from shutting it completely.

Dean glared at him as he tried to calm his breathing. Castiel glared back, giving the door a rough shove but it didn’t budge. _Damn you Winchester and your weird strength…_

Castiel cursed him silently as they stared at each other. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Give up and just leave the door? Go into the hallway? Stay here and stand? As it was his headspace was shit now so he guessed it couldn’t get worse.

“What do you want, Winchester?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at that and his arm flexed on the door, opening it a little wider. Cas gave him a warning glance. The last thing he wanted was to have Dean in his room.

“I wanted to...talk to you.”

Dean stumbled slightly over the sentence and Castiel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What could be possibly have to talk about?”

Cas had been trying to bury what had happened two days prior. And he thought he was doing a pretty good job until the fucking culprit behind his meltdown decided to chase him to his room and practically let himself in. He glared the short distance up at Dean, his eyes burning with annoyance. Dean seemed to see that and his grip on the door loosened slightly.

“Look man. What happened after the match,” Dean scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand, “It’s just…I’m sorry. I was pissed off because you beat me and I don’t take that too well and I dunno…”

Dean looked at Cas, hoping he would pick up the rest of what he was putting down. Castiel was still feeling bitter and his jaw clenched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean sighed and let go of the door completely. He actually seemed slightly remorseful. Cas would be surprised if he wasn’t so angry. Here was this man who had the nerve to assault him in the locker room after being rude to him and chase him up the stairs and ruin his carefully prepared head space. Yeah, Castiel was pissed. And now he wanted to apologize?

“It was shitty of me to do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cas reiterated, his eyes steely and his jaw tight. Irritation flashed across Dean’s face at Castiel’s response and his eyes narrowed.

“Now if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I have a final to prepare for.”

He caught Dean’s shocked and slightly wounded expression as he shut the door in his face but he wrote it off as a trick of his mind. He waited for a moment in the heavy silence until he could hear Dean’s footsteps walking away from his door. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in. This was definitely throwing a wrench in his plans.

He sighed and tried to push it from his mind. He started to stretch, his muscles protesting slightly. He shivered and stripped off his clothes to get back into the shower.

The hot water helped to reheat his muscles enough that they could relax and loosen until he felt normal again. He stood under the stream for longer than usual, meticulously running over his shots in his head. All the different strategies he had planned for today.

_Green eyes._

His mind slammed to a halt and he gasped. He hadn’t been expecting that. But there they were. Those green eyes that made Castiel feel like Dean was seeing straight through him. He clenched his jaw.

Down the line hit, cross-court return, approach the net, short volley, run to the baseline, lob, attack the net again.

_Freckles._

“Fuck!” Cas growled, punching the tile of the shower. His thought became more frantic and his muscles twitched in the memory of how he made the shots.

Long volley, cut it off at the alley, poach, cross-court again, overhead. ‘15-love, Novak.’

Castiel let the water run hot over his skin, willing it to wash away all the thoughts he couldn’t afford to have right now. He had to be on the court in 30 minutes to start warming up. He desperately needed to concentrate.

He took a deep breath and began to run over the plays in his head again. His hands swinging a ghost racquet as he stepped out of the shower. He quickly toweled off and slipped on his all white outfit, a Wimbledon tradition. His sponsor’s logo was emblazoned in bright blue on his chest and his shoes and he felt like a walking billboard. But it was an inevitable part of being a professional tennis player. His fingers played with the small, blue wings stitched into the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed his bag and headed back out the door, praying he wouldn’t see a certain someone on his way to the courts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that this chapter is so short! I was working on it when my computer screen pretty much broke completely. I won't be able to complete the chapter until I get a new computer! I apologize for the delay!! I am really very sorry and I will update as soon as I can! Thank you for being patient!

Castiel tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders as he made his way slowly to Centre Court from the locker room. He had walked straight through, avoiding anything that might spur his memories. His fingers held his tennis bag so tightly that they ached and he could feel the lines in his face from where it was twisted down into a deep scowl.

He hadn’t been able to pull himself out of his funk yet. And the brief meeting with…him had left his mind jumbled and irritated. He tried to focus on his steps towards the doors that lead to the court but something obscured his path.

“Heya, little bro!”

Cas groaned and rolled his eyes, “Gabriel, I really don’t have time to talk right now.”

Gabriel’s face dropped into a pout and Castiel huffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. He stopped where his brother was blocking the hallway and hiked his bag higher up on his shoulder.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck, don’t have to get your panties in a twist.”

Gabriel popped a lollipop into his mouth and grinned around it. Cas gave him a reproachful look.

“I’ll never understand how all of your teeth haven’t rotted from your head.”

That just made Gabriel smile wider and he slapped Castiel on the back before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Good genes, I guess!”

Castiel actually cracked a smile. They had always had jokes about Gabriel’s genealogy because he was adopted into the family, like Castiel. They had automatically connected when they discovered they were the only two that weren’t related to the Engel family. Castiel had decided to keep his last name as had Gabriel. So they were the two odd ones out in the family.

“You’re gonna go out there and kick some major ass right?”

“I was planning on it.” Castiel grinned despite himself. If there was anyone that could cheer him up it was Gabriel.

And if there was anyone that could kill his mood it was Michael.

“Castiel, are you ready?”

Michael's deep voice resonated down the hallway and Castiel felt his happiness get smothered instantly. He turned to his brother as he strode down the hallway in one of his pristinely pressed suits, hands held formally behind his back.

When people asked him he generally said that Michael was his coach because he had once been a tennis player himself. But the truth was he was more of a manager. He was never seen without a perfectly prepared suit and rarely ever smiled. Though for some reason he had decided not to run the family business when Lucifer, Castiel’s half brother, stepped down due to a scandal that threatened the company.

Even so, he still wore a small pin with blue wings identical to the stitching on Castiel’s shirt. Castiel watched it glint in the low light as he moved forward. He didn’t respond to Michael’s question because there was no point. Either way he would still have to play and there was no way he was going to be more prepared than he was at this moment.

“Did you eat the meal I specified?”

“I did.”

“Wonderful. So you should be ready to beat Crowley. It’s hard to say if the crowd will be with you or against you today but either way a Brit wins so they should be rather satiated. But be prepared.”

“I always am.” Cas said evenly, ignoring the thoughts that were fighting for his attention. Now was the time to focus and block everything else from his mind.

Gabriel had grown very quiet and still as he stood next to Castiel, his arm still thrown over his shoulders. It tightened slightly in encouragement and Gabriel threw him a smile.

“Go kick some Damon ass.”

Castiel gave him a small half smile before striding forward to open the door.


End file.
